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I set my phone down, Gabe’s words lingering in my mind. I’ve missed you. Did he mean that platonically, or . . . was there something more? My heart dares to hope, but I quickly squash the feeling. It’s probably wishful thinking.
I change into the sweatshirt he gave me, enveloped in softness that still smells faintly of him.
As I drift off, I think back to our almost-kiss at the door, the charged moment stretching between us. What if I had turned my head just so, pressing my lips to his? Let my body melt into his strong arms?
In my dreams I’m back in my apartment, Gabe getting up to leave after another cozy dinner. But this time as he reaches the door, I grab his hand and pull him back around to face me. I press close and whisper, “Don’t go. . .”
He searches my face, eyes darkening. Then his mouth descends on mine in a searing kiss. My hands slide up his chest and curl around his neck as our bodies press together. He kicks the door shut and walks me backward until my back hits the wall, all without breaking the kiss.
But that isn’t enough. As my mouth opens to let his tongue dart inside, the soft kiss becomes desperate. Urgent. Right then, his hands roam my body as my fingers tug at his button down shirt, untucking it from his jeans. I fumble with the buttons, desperate to feel his bare skin on mine. He shrugs out of the shirt and reaches for the hem of my top. I lift my arms and let him pull it over my head.
We stumble back inside my studio, leaving a trail of discarded clothes behind us. He lays me back on the bed, his warm weight settling over me. I arch into him as his lips blaze a trail down my neck. Just as his fingers find the clasp of my bra, he stills.
“I should go,” Dream-Gabe murmurs. “We can’t do this, Ame.”
“But why?” The words escape my lips, a desperate plea, my lungs deflating as if all the air has been sucked out of the room.
Gabe leans in, his lips grazing my forehead in a tender, yet agonizingly brief gesture of love, or maybe he’s being kind because he can’t give me what I want.
“This isn’t right. Sorry, this . . . Us, it can’t ever happen,” he murmurs, almost apologetic.
He pulls away, and I watch, feeling hollow, as he moves toward the door. My hand reaches out, grasping at the empty air he leaves behind. The room suddenly feels plain and empty without him.
As the final threads of the dream unravel, my eyes flutter open, breaking the spell of that magical kiss. For a moment I remain motionless, disoriented as I try to calm the ache between my legs and in my heart.
Slowly, reality seeps back in, the familiar flowery scents of my studio pull me back into the present. I let out a deep steadying breath. Sitting up, I run a hand through my tangled hair and try to brush away the lingering sensations trickling through my mind and body. I rub my eyes, trying to erase the vivid images that felt so real, so tangible.
But what hurt the most were his words. “Us, it can’t ever happen.” I’ve dreamt of Gabe before, but nothing like this—nothing this intense.
“Let’s try this, Gabe, please,” I whisper to the vacant space, but he doesn’t respond. There’s just a painful silence.
The quiet aftermath of my shattered dream.
Glancing at the clock, I groan. It’s five in the morning. There’s no chance of going back to sleep now, not with my thoughts spinning like this. I slip out of bed and pad to the bathroom on unsteady legs. Splashing cool water on my face helps ground me, washing away the haze of desire and all the vivid memories of that dream.
Yet beneath the surface, questions whirl. Why did Gabe show up unexpectedly last night? And did we almost kiss or was it just me hoping that we . . .?
I cut off that train of thought abruptly. We’re just friends. I can’t afford to get swept away by fantasies.
With a sigh, I stare at my reflection. The girl looking back has shadows under her eyes and cheeks flushed with frustration.
“Get it together,” I tell her silently. “It was only a dream. A fucking painful dream.”
But even as I try to talk myself down, I know it’s pointless. This was no ordinary dream—it was vivid, intensely real. I can still feel the ghost of his fingers on my skin, the heat of his mouth seeking mine. Those sensations will be seared into my memory for days, even weeks to come.
Some wishes are hard to forget, even once the candles go out, but the ache remains burning bright somewhere deep inside my soul. I’ll have to endure the bittersweet aftertaste. In the meantime, there’s coffee to brew and studying that won’t do itself.
The best I can hope for now is a distraction to dull the relentless wanting.
Chapter Twenty-Four
Ameline
The shrill ring of my phone pierces the quiet of my apartment. I glance at the caller ID and freeze, my breath catching. It’s the same unknown number that’s been calling for the past couple of weeks but hasn’t left a voicemail.
Who is it?
Lately I’ve been getting too many of those telemarketers that make me want to return my phone or buy something. All of them leave a message. Not this number.
